The Cliffs
by Inell13
Summary: The view from the cliffs was beautiful


The view from the cliffs was beautiful. The ocean below looked majestic and the clouds looked low enough to touch. It wasn't very far from Dover but it was always void of people who preferred to enjoy the scenery elsewhere. She liked it here and sometimes thought about building a house there after the war. A foolish dream, perhaps, but it was nice to think about.

It had become a familiar view during the past five months. Every week, she would receive an anonymous owl giving her a time and day in a code that no one would be able to break. It was too dangerous to use anything detectable, after all, and they had never put the location on parchment. A whisper in her ear, low and quiet, when she'd been walking in Canterbury one dark evening during their search for horcrux, was the only time the location had ever been mentioned.

Even now, all these months later, she didn't know why she'd met him. She'd not seen him that dark night, his figure concealed by the shadows and a dark robe, but she had recognized the voice despite the hoarse whisper. If he'd wanted to kill her, he'd had his chance on the streets of Canterbury, a slip-up she'd never again made. She'd met him, shocked by his appearance but had not offered pity or forgiveness. Those were things she could not give him even if they were what he sought.

He'd given her information, smug even as he'd stood before her skinny and weak, sick from the cold and from running constantly. It hadn't been a trap, which confirmed the rumors that he was, indeed, fighting Voldemort on his own. She'd heard the whispers after Narcissa Malfoy had been found dead not two weeks following Dumbledore's funeral, but she'd honestly not believed that Malfoy was strong enough to fight such a battle on his own.

She'd been wrong.

The information had been valid and the Order had managed to kill three Death Eaters by the time the fight was over. She never told where she got the information and Kingsley didn't ask, an unspoken agreement between them occurring from the moment she'd handed him the parchment with the location Malfoy had given her.

The next owl arrived nearly a week later. It had taken her hours to figure out the code, finally realizing he'd used Hogwarts: A History. Once she'd deciphered it, she'd met him and received another location. He'd not asked for anything in return, too proud to even ask for a loaf of bread or fresh fruit.

His motives were entirely selfish, she knew. These were places that he could not attack alone but that greatly weaken Voldemort's power. The third time she'd met him, she'd listened to the location, confirmed she heard correctly, and left him a knapsack with a warm heavy robe and food before he could refuse it. Thus their routine had been set up.

For four months, she met him on the cliffs overlooking the sea. He was still too skinny and there had been more than once that she'd ignored his protests and healed one wound or another. They had an understanding, of sorts. Brief conversation about the war, never anything personal, a location or information that would be beneficial, and she left him food. She didn't ask how he'd acquired the scar that ran from his temple to his jaw and he didn't ask her why she cringed when she put too much weight on her left leg.

She did tell him to be careful, something she'd only ever told a few select people, because they needed him as much as he needed them. He told her to just get Potter to win the bloody war before everyone was too old to lift their wands anymore, usually adding a snide remark for her to watch out for herself. No one knew who her source was and only a few people even knew she was the one who provided Kingsley with information. She thought that Harry suspected but he never said anything when she disappeared for a few hours every week.

The pop behind her drew her attention away from the scenery. Malfoy pushed his hood back and she saw the circles beneath his eyes as he ran his hand through his long blond hair. He looked tired and she bit her lip to keep from scolding him because she shouldn't care if he wasn't sleeping. His eyes narrowed when he looked at her and she knew he was seeing the bruises on her neck from a Death Eater who hadn't minded getting physical when he lost his wand.

When she handed him a piece of parchment with the locations of two confirmed followers of Voldemort, his fingers brushed against the back of her hand and she did her best to ignore the shiver the accompanied the light touch. She warned him that both of the names on the parchment were people the Order had had under watch but couldn't reach for various reasons. Neither of them was particularly dangerous, not in a dueling sense, but he didn't need to know that.

She didn't analyze why she never gave him the names of those he might not survive dueling should it come to that nor did she examine when it had become all right to send someone after the bad guys knowing that there would be no capture and only death once Malfoy located them. If she had learned only one thing since leaving Hogwarts on this quest with Harry and Ron, it was that the world was composed of shades of gray.

Malfoy read the parchment twice and then burned it, the scattered pieces blowing out to sea as he destroyed the evidence of their meeting. She was startled when he reached out and touched her throat, tracing the bruises that she'd not yet been able to heal. His touch was light, barely a ghost above her skin, and she was surprised that he was warm because he always seemed so very cold.

Hermione daringly brushed her finger over the curve of his cheek, up to trace the dark circles that were proof that no amount of success against Voldemort in his quest for retribution would stop the nightmares he suffered. She didn't say anything, merely arched a brow and gave him her bossiest look, which caused a fleeting smile before he suddenly stepped back and withdrew his hand.

He told her his latest information, a location where it was rumored Antonin Dolohov was staying along with five other followers of Voldemort outside of Cork, Ireland, of all places. He also mentioned that Harry might want to check Oxford for whatever he was looking for as Malfoy had heard whispers of Riddle spending some time there in the forties. Once she had repeated everything back to him, he nodded and pulled his hood back up.

She handed him the knapsack with food to last a week and a few days, not telling him she'd also given him a book to read during those sleepless nights. His fingers again stroked her hand and their gazes met. Neither spoke as he lazily dragged his fingertips along her skin nor did they look away as awareness seemed to crackle around them. They both ignored it, as they always did, and soon he gripped the straps of the knapsack and let her hand go.

There was no good-bye or good luck, both silently agreeing that such comments might be a jinx in time of war. Instead, there was a 'get some sleep' from her and a 'don't get yourself killed' from him. She smiled and took one last look at the peaceful sea below, biting her lip when she felt fingers barely touch her hair and warm breath against her neck. She finally Disapparated and returned home where she'd wait for another coded owl that would take her back to the cliffs by the sea. Back to Malfoy.

The End


End file.
